The Tale of Maggascotchi
by Greene Apples
Summary: The night of Will's and Elizabeth's wedding, everything goes wrong and chaos ensues. Deep dark secrets, Norrington's daydreams, and the Governor's love for pink wigs are revealed. Random but with a rather interesting plot. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

NOTE: "Greene Apples" in the author name my sister and I use when we collaborate on a story. This one, made up one late night while over at our Grandmother's house, went from a joke to an all-out "let's write it down on paper" story. It might occassionally be random, but the loose ends tie up. There is an actual plot, absurd as it might be. Two years after being written, we're posting it again. Look for the sequel that follows. Reviews greatly appreciated.

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Nobody really cared that much about Cotton's rambling parrot. That is, they didn't until he was eaten. The parrot, we mean.

Thanks to the gales that had blown the Black Pearl two weeks off course and Gibbs's compulsive drinking, supplies had been dwindling. After ravaging through all the brittle hard tack, it was only a matter of time before that parrot began to look more at home on a spick than on Cotton's shoulder.

The pile of florescent feathers strewn across the deck was discovered early Sunday morning, during the second watch. Actually, Cotton had found them earlier, but nobody understood his mime gestures that indicated "dead parrot." Finally, realization dawned on them, and Gibbs sputtered out the remainder of his rum.

"All hands on deck!" he rumbled, and once they had all gathered, weather-beaten and annoyed by the assembly, Gibbs thrust the feathers toward the group.

"This be needin' an explanation, says I," he demanded. "What kind of flea-bitten, high-sailin' crew turns on yer own?"

"I thought it was a parrot," muttered Anamaria.

"Wha' 'appened to it?" one of the sailors implored.

"I'll tell you wha' 'appened to it!" roared Gibbs. "Someone snatched it right off of poor Cotton's shoulders, plucked it with no regret, roasted it over an open fire and slapped on the A1 sauce!"

"A1 sauce?" questioned the dumfounded crew.

"Aye, it's that important," nodded Gibbs.

Anamaria eyed him. "Wha' exactly are ya getting' at?"

"Someone," Gibbs began, slowly dragging out his words dramatically, "someone murdered Cotton's parrot!"

"GASP!" gasped the crew.

"'Tis one of ye," Gibbs continued, glaring skeptically at each one. "And cursed be the bloody pirate who—"

The familiar sound of Jack Sparrow's flamboyant sashay interrupted the threat.

"Wha' be all the commotion?" he said, his arms flapping wildly and in no apparent direction. Stumbling forward, a slight smirk on his tanned face, he added, "Ye wouldn't be plannin' another mutiny, eh?"

His laughter hung awkwardly in the dead silence, trailing off into a cough upon seeing the scattered feathers across the deck.

"What's on your face…?" someone asked.

"What's on me face?" repeated Jack. "Ah…nothing, just me ruggedly handsome features."

But by now, the whole crew had scurried over, cluttering around Jack and pointing accusing fingers at his mouth.

"That be A1 sauce!" accused Anamaria.

"N-no it's not!" stuttered Jack, defensively.

"Then wha' it be?"

"Worcester?" he replied, sheepishly.

"I see a feather in his mouth!" shrieked another.

"Oh, that's good to know. I was wondering why I was having trouble breathing," Jack said.

"OFF WITH HIS HEAD!"

"NOOO!" cried Jack. "Then I won't be able to wear me hat! And it's such a lovely hat—"

Gibbs shoved through the rioting crowd and grabbed a hold of Jack's sleeve. "Sorry, Jack," he said, gravely, "but there be no excuse for feastin' on Cotton's parrot."

"Aw, you're only mad cuz I didn't share," Jack mused.

Gibbs directed Anamaria to steer off towards a hazy island on the distant horizon. Within three hours, as they neared the deserted coast, Jack realized with a sinking feeling precisely where they were—again.

"I really had hoped we were past all this," Jack said.

"Jack—Jack—had you not noticed, this be the island we made you governor of on our last little trip."

Marching out onto the plank, Jack moped before diving off. "You take all the fun out of being marooned. It's the same thing, over and over and over again. Would it kill you to throw me to the sharks just once? Or use some other grotesquely unique form of torture?"

"That's an option?" asked Anamaria hopefully.

Jack paused, considering. "I'll be takin' the island, thank you," he muttered, then remembered, "Wha' about me one shot?"

Gibbs paused. "I be thinkin' we leave that up to Cotton."

No response.

"The poor man's so devastated 'bout the bird, can't even manage to answer," Gibbs shook his head sadly, clicking his tongue.

"He may never speak again, and it's all your fault, Jack!" snapped Anamaria.

Jack stared at them incredulously. "The man had his tongue cut out!" he exclaimed.

"Now don't be makin' excuses for yer rash actions," growled Gibbs. "Off the plank with ye!"

"Me shot—" begged Jack, teetering at the edge of the plank.

"Me bird—" Cotton would have retorted if he could have talked.

"Me ship now!" grinned Gibbs, giving the plank a stamp of his foot, and sending Jack toppling into the ocean waves below. "All hands back to work! Ye will call me Captain Gibbs from this momentous point in history onward!"

Scowling, Jack saw no other choice but to begin his long swim towards shore.

Nobody saw Cotton who, feeling slightly bad for his misfortunate ex-captain, tossed a pistol with one shot overboard for Jack—All right, all right, that was a sentimental lie. I'll try again.

Everybody gathered around as Cotton, who was still fuming over the death of his beloved bird, chucked a pistol with one shot at Jack's head.

"Nice shot!" cheered Anamaria.

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"Nice shot!" cheered Lieutenant Gillette.

Norrington strutted over to the wall and plucked some darts from the picture of Will's face, which was now punctured with holes. "I need another round, Gillette," he muttered, rubbing his temples.

"Sir, in all respect, I do not believe this is good for your health," Gillette treaded lightly, observing the pulsing vein in the Commodore's forehead.

WHISK! A dart landed on Will's nose.

"I mean," Gillette continued apprehensively, "perhaps it's time you…move on?"

WHISK! A second dart struck Will's Colgate smile.

"After all," said Gillette, twiddling his fingers, "their wedding is tomorrow."

WWWHHIISSSKKK! A bombardment of darts were hurled ferociously at the photo.

"I know, Gillette, don't you think I know? In precisely eighteen hours, twenty seven minutes, and thirty two seconds, Elizabeth will marry that GQ-cover blacksmith and be lost to me forever!"

Embarrassed, Gillette glanced around the Port Royal bar room, desperately hoping that no one had overheard or recognized them. He was relieved to find that others were preoccupied with a fight, and had paid little attention to the two British navy officers hidden in the shadowy back corner.

As Norrington hastily gathered up his overused darts for more shots, Gillette tried to comment optimistically,

"It probably would have never worked out anyway, really. I mean, she's so young and beautiful and you're—"

"Don't forget I have darts, Gillette."

"—you're…mature beyond her years, sir." Gillette tugged at his uniform, sweltering in the smoke-filled pub. "It is rather uncomfortable in here, isn't it, sir? One feels almost like Jack Sparrow, hee-hee—funny thought, is it not?"

"Jack Sparrow," sneered Norrington, wishing that he had the pirate's picture to paste up alongside Will's. "What have I told you about mentioning THAT NAME!"

"Apparently nothing that I remember, sir," blubbered Gillette, cringing.

"I swear, you're like the annoying little brother that I never had," grumbled Norrington.

"And I bet we were separated at birth, too, yes?" Gillette attempted to joke, but retreated in silence when the Commodore gave him the Death Glare (which was usually reserved for the one and only Will, The-One-Who-Stole-My-Girlfriend).

"My God," droned Norrington, catching sight of the setting sun, "I only have eighteen hours, twenty three minutes, and fifty-five seconds before—" and he dissolved into hysterical tears.

Gillette stood up on cue. "I'll go get some more drinks."

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"I'll go get some more drinks, miss," the maid cooed, gathering up the empty wine glasses and disappearing into the kitchen.

Elizabeth sank lower into her seat, wishing she could vanish. The dining room of the Governor's mansion was swarming with British officials (who came solely for the food), family members (who popped out of nowhere when they heard about the food), and would-be-friends (if the Swanns had any who weren't just in it for the food). The priest for the wedding ceremony the next day sat at the table as well (but we'll give him the benefit of the doubt). The large group had pestered the bride- and groom-to-be for nearly twenty-four unbearable hours, showering them with useless gifts (insulated toothbrushes…?) and overused good-luck wishes that lost all sincerity by the second course.

"It was so nice of your father to throw us this Good Luck Dinner. Aren't you having a good time, Elizabeth?" whispered Will from beside her, finishing off his slice of lemon meringue. "You look pale. And your eyebrow looks slightly irritated."

"I'm fine. And so is my eyebrow," Elizabeth said shortly.

"Well, if you're sure. Hey, are you going to eat that?" Will said, helping himself to his fiancée's slice of dessert.

Elizabeth pursed her lips, watching as he unappetizingly devoured it in two-and-a-half bites. "Will, aren't you worried at all?"

"Mffbhh-whbmf?"

"About the wedding tomorrow?"

"Mffdkdb."

"Well, just because you aren't doesn't mean that other people aren't."

"Mkkd."

"You're so narrow-minded, Will. All you know is black-smithing, black-smithing, black-smithing. It's like, Hey, I can pound this scorching-hot piece of metal and make it look like something recognizable, and then I can use it to pound something else!"

"Mff."

The priest leaned over between the two. "My dear," he said to Elizabeth, "I believe your fiancée might be choking."

"SURPRISE!" came a raucous shout. Elizabeth looked up and, to her horror, found the entire army of cooks escorting out a baked atrocity. It barely made it out of the kitchen, with its dozen layers of alternating German chocolate, French vanilla, and marble (which was indigenous to no country anyone could point to). Swirls of gaudy pink frosting added unnecessary effects ("and calories," thought Elizabeth, groaning, recalling her corset), but—worst of all—a miniature blacksmith hammer and parasol were jabbed in at the very top.

"What is that?" Elizabeth could barely get out without fainting from humiliation.

Governor Swann stood up proudly, heedlessly clinking glasses together (forget the fact that they were imported from China, his daughter was nearly passing out, and his future son-in-law's face was turning purple).

"Attention!" he sang out, jubilantly, although everyone had either quieted down or left after dessert. "I would like to present an early wedding cake to my beautiful daughter and her charming fiancée."

"Choking fiancée," inserted the priest.

"And that too!" smiled Governor Swann, raising his glass for a toast. "My dear Elizabeth, the cooks worked for weeks on designing this for your special day. Isn't it lovely? I personally asked them to put the accessories on top, just for you. I know how proud of your little blacksmith you are."

"It looks like someone stabbed the cake," Elizabeth hissed, dejectedly, just as some extraneous icing glopped onto her father's wig. The Governor apparently didn't notice.

"Mkdd," Will managed.

"That's exactly what I said," nodded Governor Swann. "But they insisted on chocolate anyway. Now, who wants a slice?"

The wedding cake gave a sudden lurch, but went unnoticed, because just then, Will collapsed to the floor.

"Son, I was just kidding. We're saving it for the reception tomorrow," chuckled Governor Swann. "Will? Will?"

"He can't breathe," Elizabeth explained unemotionally.

"Isn't that your line?" asked the priest quietly.

"Yeah, well, I got sick of choking every episode," Elizabeth shot back, rising out of her seat and disappearing out the front door. "Call me if anything important comes up."

While the priest tried to revive Will and the governor bustled around in a state of panic (both from seeing his wig pink and realizing his future son-in-law was choking), Elizabeth wandered around outside until she found herself meandering towards the dock.

Gazing out across the turquoise ocean, stained with the rays of a setting auburn sun, she couldn't help but consider tomorrow. Will, her gorgeous—though somewhat simple-minded (to put it nicely)—fiancée, who would, for the rest of his life, be hacking away at metal. Grimacing, she recalled the stench of that donkey in the shop, wondering if Will would eventually reek too. This called for drastic measures.

"What would Jack Sparrow do?" Elizabeth questioned aloud…

She pictured Jack, his dreadlocks arranged into a tight bun on the top of his head, stuffed into a pearly-white wedding gown and walking down the aisle with Will.

"My effects!" Jack called, twisting back to look over his shoulder at Governor Swann as Will dragged him along.

"Now, my dear, do you really think these are lady-like?" the governor replied, distastefully setting aside the confiscated hat and pistol. "Now go get married like the nice little lady that I know you are."

Still complaining about how they made him take off his hat because the stupid veil wouldn't fit overtop, he turned to Will.

"Ye do know I'm only in this for the rum, savvy?" Jack hissed through his gold and silver teeth. "Honestly. And is this dress supposed to itch like that?"

"You're not Elizabeth!" said a very confused—and concerned—Will.

"And you're not Will!" gasped Jack.

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not. Ye 'appen to be some figment of Elizabeth's imagination, brought into existence by the extreme paranoia and stress that she is under at the moment. This scene is actually a creative writing technique used to break up certain boring portions of a narrative."

"That explains how I got here," said Will. "Last thing I knew, I was choking." He peered at Sparrow through squinted eyes. "So, are you a fig Newton too?"

Jack blinked. "Will, I'm not even goin' to answer that."

"That was pointless," Elizabeth concluded at the end of her daydream (the authors of this story likewise appologize for that random piece that just kind of inserted itself out of nowhere, cluttered up space, and ultimately did nothing constructive for this story). Sighing, she mused that even marrying Jack Sparrow would be better than becoming Mrs. Turner—at least Jack had an exciting life. Strange, yes, but exciting.

Slightly panicked and discontented, she wandered back to the mansion in hopes of getting some sleep—anything to stop imagining what horrendous things that wedding could dredge up.

"We've saved Will!" announced the priest, who hadn't been this animated since they changed the Communion wine. "Your fiancée will be in fine shape for tomorrow, Mrs. Turner."

Elizabeth bristled at the name. It sounded like a generic food brand. Mrs. Turner's Lemon Meringue Pie—so good, you'll choke on your disbelief!

Will was lounging in the parlor, she was told, eating some dessert to get his strength back; you can go see him if you want. Elizabeth didn't bother to respond, quickly disappearing upstairs into her room.

The cake was there to greet her.

"What is that?" she muttered, disgusted, as the icing continued to melt off into a chunky pink pile on her newly shined floorboards.

The Governor poked his head into her room, the wig still stained. "Just thought you'd like it here by your side as a reminder of tomorrow!" he chirped, happily.

"How thoughtful." She glared at his poofy, dyed wig. "Father, you look like Christina Aguilera."

"Get some sleep; tomorrow's the big day!"

Elizabeth waited until his footsteps faded out, and then she quickly shut the door, locking it with a click.

"Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow," she mocked. "That's all anybody talks about. But if I marry Will…" She shuddered. "Who knows what disasters could happen? After all, what kind of pair do we really make? I mean, I'm so young and beautiful, and he's so—so immature beyond my years! Give him a wad of metal and he's in heaven! My life will cease to matter! (Whoa, cease, it's that English vocabulary.) I might lose intelligence if I'm around him too much! No, I'm not over-exaggerating! Did you see that guy, Mr. Brown, in the blacksmith shop? Dulled from Will's company, I'm sure, and what if that happens to me? Gasp! Oh no—What will our kids look like? They might come out with elf ears for all I know!" She glanced out the window. "And I only have fifteen hours, twelve minutes, and forty-nine seconds before—" and she dissolved into hysterical tears.

Elizabeth paced back and forth, desperately wishing for some divine intervention to break up the wedding tomorrow: a hurricane, a plague of locusts, a kidnapping, anything. She was debating whether or not she could ask the priest to concoct something to that effect when she heard a rustling outside of her window.

By six a.m on the morning of the wedding, all the occupants and employees of the mansion had burst into Elizabeth's bedroom chamber.

"YOUR DRESS, MISS!"

"YOUR HAIRPINS, MISS!"

"YOUR FLOWERS, MISS!"

"YOUR BREAKFAST, MISS!"

"YOU'RE GONE!" gasped Governor Swann.

The room was entirely empty, with no sign of Elizabeth at all. Immediately, everyone's chaotic scrambling snowballed into panicked chaotic scrambling.

"Look!" one of the maids cried. "On her pillow! There's a note!"

They huddled around the scrawled message, hastily written—with multiple spelling errors—and Governor Swann read it aloud:

SALE! 50-70 off all Sears' blenders!

"Uh, wrong side, Governor."

"Jolly good show!" cheered the Governor, and read:

'I'v taken elesabith because I'm in luv with wil and nobodee but mee wil marree wil and wonss I'v finishd with elesabith I'l bee bak to clam wat's min! (Don't wait up for me.)

Sincerely,

Captain Maggascotchi'

"Clam wats min?" repeated a maid.

"Who ordered Chinese?" asked the Governor, popping his head up.

"Claim what's mine," corrected the cook. "You're thinking of chow mein noodles!"

At that moment, the baked atrocity swooned forward and toppled to the ground, spraying everyone and everything within ten yards with cake crumbs and icing glop. Then everyone froze.

A hand emerged from the middle of the cake ruins, followed by an arm—and surprisingly (yes, we know you're shocked) the rest of a body. Once icing was smeared away from the figure's face, it was only too recognizable.

"GASP!" gasped the crowd.

The man stepped out of his cake-fort, his hiding place for the past forty-eight hours.

"I'm sure you'll all be happy to know that I'm not dead," Barbossa announced.

They stared, speechless. The chef punched the nearest cook, accusingly.

"I told you we didn't bake it long enough!"


	2. Explain to Me Why Your Wig is Pink

"YOU'VE KIDNAPPED ELIZABETH!" accused Governor Swann, brandishing his fist—which he had no intention of using—in front of Barbossa's cake-smeared face.

"Yes, and I did it all while I was baked in a giant pastry," Barbossa retorted, sarcastically. He stepped out from the crumbly mess, observing the crowd that had flocked to Elizabeth's room upon hearing of her disappearance.

"What's going on?" Norrington exclaimed, rushing into the room. His eyes landed on the cake-covered pirate. "I thought you ordered a cake—not Barbossa!"

"It seems," Governor Swann stated, "my daughter has gone missing, and isn't it convenient that HE'S here?"

Trailing behind Norrington was Gillette. "What's happening?"

Governor Swann handed the letter that was left on Elizabeth's pillow to him. "Read it."

"But then Barbossa _couldn't_ have kidnapped Miss Swann," Gillette concluded after skimming the ransom note. "This Maggascotchi person takes full blame for it."

Barbossa leaped at his chance.

"Maggascotchi!" he gasped. "No, not Maggascotchi!"

"What's Maggascotchi?" Norrington demanded.

"Uh—she's only the most feared woman pirate ever to sail the high seas."

"I've never heard of her," Norrington muttered skeptically.

"And I've never heard of German chocolate and French vanilla passing off as marble," scoffed Barbossa, flicking the remainder of the cake from his shirt. "Maggascotchi very rarely sails under her own name; she prefers pirating incognito. Rumor was she had joined forces with Jack Sparrow."

"GASP!" gasped the crowd.

"Did you say…_Jack Sparrow_?" Governor Swann whispered dramatically.

"_Captain_ Jack Sparrow," corrected Gillette.

"Oh, yes. How could we forget?" said Norrington, mockingly. "Why didn't we hang that swashbuckling idiot when we had the chance?"

Gillette caught sight of the glare Norrington shot at him. "Don't blame me! Will Turner was the one who went all 'Three Musketeers' to ruin it all!"

"Will!" Governor Swann remembered. "What will I ever tell my wonderful son-in-law?"

Norrington was in the middle of rolling his eyes when the single most brilliant idea of his life struck him: If he could heroically rescue Elizabeth, she'd fall in love with him and forget all this nonsense about marrying Will, the dim-witted blacksmith.

"Nothing, sir, you will tell Will Turner absolutely nothing. There's no need to cause precious William any stress on his wedding day, now, is there? No, I didn't think so. I will go out to sea and track down Jack Sparrow, who will lead me directly to this Maggascotchi and, consequently, to Elizabeth. The rest of you will have to stall until I return."

"Isn't Will going to be wondering where his bride is?" asked Gillette.

"Give him lemon meringue and he's preoccupied long enough," Norrington answered. "I also want guards stationed around Turner the entire time in case Maggascotchi returns for him. But don't worry. I won't take long."

"But how do you know where to find Jack Sparrow?" Governor Swann questioned.

"Easy. I'm sure he's marooned on some island by now."

As Norrington left the room, everyone realized that they still hadn't cleared up why Barbossa was baked in the cake.

"I'd like an explanation from you," Governor Swann said.

"As soon as you tell me why your wig is pink," Barbossa replied.

"As soon as you tell me why your wig is pink," the harbormaster was saying.

"Because that's how the _Governor's_ is!" Will Turner exclaimed, exasperated. At the moment, he was dressed identically to his fiancé's father, attempting to get permission to borrow a ship—a request that was denied him when he, a blacksmith, had asked earlier. "I thought Governors had more credentials!"

"Not ones with Christina Aguilera wigs. Sorry, chum."

Dejectedly, Will lumbered over to the edge of the docks, summing up his situation. Today was his wedding day, but when he awoke in the blacksmith shop that morning, he had found a letter left on an anvil. He picked the crumbled sheet out from his pocket to read it again, still hardly able to believe what it said:

Dearest Will,

I am unable to follow through with our marriage. I have realized that I am in love with another and must leave to find him. I only wish that you can find another simple-minded blacksmith like yourself to marry instead. My eyebrow and I will sort of miss you.

Already gone when you read this,

Miss Swann

"How could she leave me?" whimpered Will. "I thought we had something special. I knew that I had a rocky relationship with her eyebrow, but _never_ with Elizabeth… I think I need some lemon meringue. _Wait, no_. I have to find Elizabeth before she makes the biggest mistake of her life by marrying that fling. She can't really love him more than me—I bet she's testing me! Yes! That's it! She's testing my love for her! I'll prove that I'm the best and only man she'll ever want to marry!"

"Take the ship! Just take it!"

Will looked up to see the harbormaster, who wasted no time in shoving the blacksmith on the biggest, grandest, most expensive-looking ship in the entire harbor.

"Ere she is, the _Paris Hilton_. The biggest, grandest, most expensive-looking ship in the entire harbor. She's yours."

"Sir—what changed your mind?" a baffled Will asked.

"Son, you're pathetic," grumbled the harbormaster. "The sooner you leave to find that girl, the sooner I can be rid of you."

"How generous of you, sir!"

"Yes, that's right, now be gone."

The harbormaster was so elated to send Will off that he never heard Norrington, dashing down towards the docks, screaming for him to "STOP THAT BLACKSMITH!"

He did, though, when Norrington was screaming it in his face two seconds later.

"I can't stop him now!" the harbormaster replied. "He's a half-mile out to sea!"

"If that dumbbell finds Elizabeth before I do, I'll make sure you never run these docks again," threatened Norrington.

"Sounds great to me. Otherwise I have another ten years until retirement."

Norrington tried to suppress the rest of his sneering hissy fit. "I want a ship."

"Explain to me why your wig is pink."

"What?"

"Just kidding. Take your pick, Commodore."

"I want the biggest, grandest, most-expensive ship out on the docks."

"She just left, sir."  
Norrington's nostrils flared. "Fine. I want the second-biggest, second-grandest, second-most-expensive ship out on the docks."

The harbormaster awarded him with a pile of wood that just so happened to float and so passed by as a ship.

"The _Jackson Michael_?" Norrington read the boat's name aloud.

"Aye. She was better in her youth, been through a few scraps as of late. But she's had major renovations done over the past few years—can barely recognize her. She'll serve you well in any case."

Norrington sailed out of Port Royal at full speed, heading towards Jack's infamous island that he had been marooned on countless times.

He couldn't help but glare out at Will, still dressed as the Governor, a mile ahead on the _Paris Hilton_, and that much closer to Elizabeth. Little did he know that the blacksmith was headed for the exact same place.

"An' lil' did I know, th' blacksmith woz 'eaded fer the exact same place!"

The infamously famous Captain Jack Sparrow was in the middle of recounting his adventures to anyone who would listen. As usual, he had a large audience.

While he had been marooned on the island, abandoned after devouring Cotton's parrot, he had done some serious life-assessment. After some contemplation, he realized that his dream no longer was to be the greatest pirate ever to sail the seas; no, his dream was to be the greatest pirate ever to own a small, self-supporting business.

So he dubbed his island _iiiiiii_, built a pub, and waited for business.

Yes, we know, you're sitting there, saying to yourself, _All right, now that's just WAAAAY_ _too far-fetched_. Go ahead. Propose your questions and we'll answer them.

QUESTION 1.) The rumrunners hadn't been on the island in years; Elizabeth had burned down all possible firewood during their last visit to the island. How could he possibly build a pub?

ANSWER: With human hair. From his back.

QUESTION 2.) Jack is on a deserted island. How could he possibly get business by simply waiting there?

ANSWER: Hollywood magic.

Business flourished in no time for Jack Sparrow, who earned a reputation as the greatest business genius since Bill Gates. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday featured a long-list of celebrity guests, whose favorite seats were especially reserved. On Tuesdays, Jack provided everyone with makeup tips. Thursdays were primarily "Smack Jack" days, and each angry woman won a free drink. Everyone agreed that _Skull and Crossbones _had the best rum around. Jack couldn't have been egotistically happier.

"Now, wouldn't that whole Black Pearl adventure make for a fantastic movie?" Jack was asking Jerry Bruckheimer, a premier director who had flown in from California and was fast becoming a regular at the pub.

"A little over-the-top, Jack," he critiqued. "With a little editing, though, we might have something."

"Well, if you're considering who to cast for the role of Jack Sparrow, I'd be happy to—"

"Denzel would play it magnificently," Bruckheimer nodded. "He comes here on Wednesdays, right?"

Jack Nicholson sauntered over, slapping Sparrow on the back. "How could you go wrong with a name like Jack?" he smiled. "Love what you've done to the place, Captain. How about moving all this to LA?"

"**Yehs, I'll help you financially**," Arnold Schwartzenegger boomed from the other side of the room. "**After all, I am the governor of California. And I'd like to thank everyone who voted for me.**"

"Hey, how come he gets to be in bold?" complained Jennifer Aniston.

"**Because I have a cool Terminator voice**."

"But I have a hit sitcom and a hot husband."

"_Friends_ is over, luv," Jack Sparrow reminded her. "It's time to move on."

"**And who ever said Brad is better than me**?"

"Let's have another drink!" Jack proclaimed, breaking up the argument with more rum.

"JJJAAAACCKKK!"

Everyone stopped and turned towards the door. Governor Swann was standing there.

Slowly, fearing the worst, Jack rose from his seat and sashayed over to him.

"How," he began slowly, "did you find me?" (He was prepared to drag out each dramatic moment to impress Bruckheimer.)

"You've only been marooned here fifty thousand times."

Jack blinked. "What 'appened to your voice?"

"Nothing happened to my voice. What's wrong with my voice?"

Jack peered closely. "Will?"

"Yes?"

Sparrow snatched the wig off from the blacksmith's head. "Will, I don't even want to know. What are you doing here?"

"Jack, I need your help. Elizabeth's testing me. She left on our wedding day and she wants me to find her."

"She left on your wedding day?" repeated Jack. "Uh, are you sure she _wants_ you to find her?"

"Jack, I think I know women a little bit better than you," Will replied, observing the red smack marks on Sparrow's face. "But you know the ocean better than I do. Where do you think she would go?"

Sparrow paused. "Will, I have a business to take care of. I have become the most popular pirate business owner to ever be marooned on an island. I have endorsement deals. I have these rich, beautiful people who are relying on me to continue this business and those endorsements."

"I'll help you get the Pearl back if you help me."

"My effects, please."

Jack gulped down the remainder of his rum with panache, straightened his hat, and checked to make sure he had his pistol with one shot.

"You'll take care of the place while I'm gone, savvy?" Jack said to Nicholson as he and Will left for the door.

"Anything for a fellow Jack."

As they were boarding the _Paris Hilton_, moored offshore, they were interrupted by Ryan Seacrest, who came dashing out from the _Skull And Crossbones_.

"Wait! Jack! Will! You have to read this!"

Ryan tossed them his cell phone, which had the following text message:

HELP ME JACK

KIDNAPPED BY

MAGGASCOTCHI

ELIZABETH

"No! I should have known something awful would happen to her if she was out by herself!" cried Will.

"It's a good thing my business is so famous, or else she wouldn't have known who or where to call for help," said Jack, admiring his pub. "Well, I've never heard of this Maggascotchi, but at least this makes it that much more interesting."

"Seacrest, out!" Ryan announced as he returned to the pub for another drink (and to watch _American Idol_, which was playing on the Plasma screen TV).

"Come on, Jack, hurry!" Will urged, dragging Jack onto the _Paris Hilton_. "One second could be the difference in ever seeing Elizabeth again!"

"All right, all right," Jack sighed, following after the blacksmith.

In no more than a few minutes, they were sailing over the ocean, out to find Maggascotchi and Will's one and only true love, Elizabeth.


	3. My Deep, Dark Secret

Chapter Three: "My Deep, Dark Secret"

While the two hottest guys in the movie were leaving Jack's pub, Norrington found himself in deep water. Literally.

The _Jackson Michael _had sprung a leak somewhere or another, sunk to the bottom of the ocean before our poor Commodore could do anything about it, and left him doggy paddling about the waves.

"Splendid!" he remarked. "How am I supposed to rescue Elizabeth if I don't have a ship?"

"Commodore Norrington! Sir!" someone shouted over the roar of the splashing ocean waters. Suddenly, Norrington was encompassed in a long shadow, and, craning his neck back, found himself face to face with the Dauntless.

"What in the name of Great Britain—"

Gillette peered down from the upper deck, waving excitedly. "Sir! I thought you might need a hand of sorts!"

Norrington watched in horror as the ship continued to lurch closer as he floated defenselessly. "Gillette! I think _you _might need a _brain_! STOP!"

"Oh, my apologies, sir!" With that, Gillette swung the ship sidewise, narrowly missing the Commodore but successfully dousing him with an immense wave that left his hat soggy and reeking of dead fish.

In a few moments, Gillette had pulled Norrington out of the ocean by a lifeboat. Beaming at the sight of the Commodore, he grinned,

"Out to save Elizabeth, eh? Right here to help you, sir!"

Norrington, ringing out his crumpled hat, retorted through clenched teeth, "Gillette, I am the Commodore. And as such it is purely _my_ responsibility to rescue Elizabeth."

"But sir—"

"_Gillette, _how am I supposed to impress Elizabeth and win her over if I bring the entire Royal Navy with me?"

"It would be like a parade, sir!"

Norrington remembered the clowns and shuddered (that has absolutely nothing to do with the story, so don't worry about it).

"And sir, we go together like peas in a pod!" Gillette continued enthusiastically. "Like acne and teenagers! Like Vanna White and that other guy on _Wheel of Fortune_!"

Norrington stared at him, horrified, imagining what Gillette would look like in a sparkling gown revealing letters to puzzles.

"I never liked sequins much myself, sir, but you get the general idea," grinned Gillette. "Now, onward to save Elizabeth!"

"_Gillette_!" snapped Norrington. "Listen to me, and listen very, very, _closely_. We _are not_ buddy-buddy, do you understand? You are here primarily to play a modest supporting role in my heroic endeavors, and nothing more. I will put up with you because, as of right now, the _Jackson Michael _has sunk to the bottom of the ocean."

"Really?" asked Gillette. "I thought he was on trial."

"Really? I thought he was on a trial."

Barbossa, slouched on straw and locked behind bars in the jail house, waited for an answer from Governor Swann.

"No," the Governor replied, pursing his lips. "We let Jack Sparrow off the hook. Well, technically, off the noose."

"How very generous of you, Governor," Barbossa grinned a crooked-toothed smile, tugging anxiously at his shirt collar.

Governor Swann eyed him suspiciously. "But enough about Jack. You still haven't given me an explanation for that cake fiasco. And what happened to my daughter." He blinked. "And why you're _not dead_."

"You sound more confused than normal, Governor."

"You look uglier than normal. Start talking, Barbossa."

The pirate didn't budge.

"Fine. You leave me no choice." Governor Swann drew from a bag in the corner of the room a green apple.

"What are you…?"

Governor Swann drew his hand back and whipped the apple at the stone wall, where it splattered into mush.

"NOOOO!" shouted Barbossa. "Not the _apples_!"

Ignoring the pirate's pleas, Governor Swann continued to mash the apples into unrecognizable slush, leaping insanely around the room and stomping on them, earning concerned looks from the guards.

"Fine!" gasped Barbossa. "Fine! I'll talk! I'll talk! Just leave the apples out of this!"

Wiping applesauce from his boots, the Governor settled down to listen. "Go on."

"I did intend to kidnap Elizabeth, I did," he began. "But then everything went terribly wrong."

"The cake batter?" guessed the Governor.

"Aye. I couldn't resist just a smidgen of a taste. I leaned over the gigantic bowl of batter, when some idiot threw open the kitchen door, ranting and raving about lemon meringue pie. The door hit me in the back and I tumbled into the batter, and the next thing I knew I was being wheeled off to the oven. Don't your cooks check their batter for sanitary reasons?"

"They will now. I just got them washing their hands last Thursday."

"So there I be, cooked in a cake, a foul condemnation disproportionate to my crimes," Barbossa continued. "After being iced, the cooks took me up to Elizabeth's room to keep her company on the day before her wedding. But that night…" He paused, a brilliant idea donning on him. After all, who would know if he rearranged reality just a bit?

"Yes, yes, _but that night_?" prompted Governor Swann, picking up another apple, threateningly.

"But that night, another returned to confess his love for her!"

"Another?"

"Yes," said Barbossa gravely. "Jack Sparrow."

"Gasp!" gasped the Governor.

"Yes, Jack Sparrow," continued Barbossa, dramatically. "He tried to get Elizabeth to run off with him, but she refused."

"I knew I raised her right!"

"But Jack Sparrow didn't care, Governor, so he kidnapped her, accusing this fictional Maggascotchi person so that no one would assume he was the guilty party."

"Wait, wait, wait," the Governor interrupted. "I thought you told me that Maggascotchi was a real person, and she was working _with _Jack."

"Aye, aye I did," nodded Barbossa, trying not to start blubbering. "But you see, Governor, I _had_ to. Had I told everyone the truth, it would have caused uncontrollable panic. Tis best that only you and I know."

"Smart thinking, Barbossa," commended Governor Swann, nodding. "But now what do you propose we do? You know the situation best."

Barbossa paused. "There's only one thing we can do."

"Start a fundraiser with all this applesauce?"

"No, Governor. Sail out in search of Jack Sparrow." He smirked. "And I know exactly where he be."

Meanwhile, back in the Blacksmith Shop, the donkey found himself ready to leave as well. After the absence of Will and the continuous snoring of the somnolent Mr. Brown, he—yes, he refers to the donkey—found a sheet of paper and wrote out the following:

MR. BROWN:

I HAVE WORKED HERE FOR THE WHOLE TWO YEARS OF MY LIFE. I AM SICK AND TIRED OF BEING TIED TO THIS JOB AND GETTING NO RESPECT. PLUS NO ONE HAS FED ME IN THE PAST TWO DAYS AND I WANT MY HORSE FEED. SO I HAVE GONE OUT IN SEARCH OF THE ONE AND ONLY PERSON WHO APPRECIATES ME.

It was only after the disgruntled donkey trotted out in search of Will that Barbossa and the Governor entered the Blacksmith Shop.

"Wait a minute, Governor. I still don't understand what we be doin' 'ere. Your Commodore discreetly said to not tell Will of Elizabeth's disappearance."

"Yes, but maybe this will be enough to finally end his friendly relations with Jack Sparrow. After all, he can't like the guy if he ran off with his fiancée."

"Depends. Does he get lemon meringue pie in the trade?" mused the pirate, glancing around the shop.

"No," said Governor Swann. He, too, looked around the empty room.

"Where be the lad?" asked Barbossa.

Suddenly, a deafening snore erupted from a corner of the shop.

Glancing nervously at Barbossa, the Governor crept over to where the noise continued to come from. Sighing, finding the cause of their panic, he looked back to Barbossa, saying,

"It's only Mr. Brown, the blacksmith. He's asleep."

"And drunk," Barbossa commented, gesturing to the empty bottle of rum on the dirt floor.

"Yes," Governor Swann noted half-consciously, treading over to a small table. "Look at this," he mumbled.

Barbossa walked over to where the Governor stood, holding a piece of paper between his fingers.

"What does it say?" the pirate asked, observing the scratchy handwriting.

"It reads: Mr. Brown: I have worked here for the two whole years of my life."

Governor Swann paused, raising an eyebrow. He continued on, "I am sick and tired of being tied to this job and getting no respect. Plus, no one has fed me in the past two days and I want my horse feed."

"He just had lemon meringue _yesterday_…" cut-in Barbossa.

"…Horse feed…?" the even more confused than normal Governor asked aloud. He shook his head. "So, I have gone out in search of the one and only person who appreciates me."

"Who appreciates Will?" Barbossa questioned, grabbing the paper and looking it over for himself.

"I don't think anyone does," the other man answered. He snapped back out of his confused state, saying, "That's all that was written. No name, or anything."

"But Will, he wrote this, right?"

"I assume so," Governor Swann replied. "Look!" he cried theatrically, pointing to the other end of the room.

"Wha'?" asked the pirate, dropping the note back on the table.

"The donkey!"

"Wha' donkey?" Barbossa said, looking about the shop for a donkey.

"The donkey!"

"WHA' DONKEY! I DON'T SEE A DONKEY!"

"EXACTLY!" shouted the Governor.

"WHA'?"

"A DONKEY'S SUPPOSED TO BE HERE!" exclaimed the Governor.

Barbossa stared blankly at him.

"There used to be a donkey in here—he used to power these two wheels and make them turn!" He pointed to the giant wheels.

"And…?"

"He's GONE!" Governor Swann exasperated.

"Wha' are ya suggestin' 'ere?" Barbossa eyed the Governor.

"What if Will rode the donkey out of this shop and went out in search of the person who most appreciates him—like the note said—so that that person could come to the wedding!" The Governor threw up his hands as if pointing out the obvious.

"But who appreciates 'im the most?" asked Barbossa, scratching at his beard.

"Who appreciates him _at all_?"

They both stared out in space, thinking. The theme song for Jeopardy started playing out from nowhere.

"Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo. Doo doo doo doo doo! Doodoodoodoodoo, doo doo doo doo—"

"Cut the music!" Governor Swann shouted. The music stopped. (Sorry, had to get that in…I love that song!)

"Wha' say we forget 'bout Will—wha' does it matter?" said Barbossa. "If 'e's not 'ere, then that's one less person we 'ave te worry 'bout."

The Governor looked horrified. "We have to _worry_ about him! He's about to become

my _son-in-law_!"

"Correction: _Jack Sparrow_ is about to become your son-in-law."

"Well, at least it's not Norrington," sighed the Governor, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Wha'?"

The Governor became oddly quiet, suddenly fascinated with the donkey dung littered across the floor.

"Ah, nothing."

"Now, Governor, I swear on my honor that I will do everything in me power to rescue your daughter, bring Jack Sparrow to justice, and make sure that this wedding 'appens. The least you could do is let me in on what be the trouble."

Governor Swann sighed, rubbing his temples. "You see, Barbossa, I have a deep, dark secret."

"Oooh. Sounds _interesting_. Very interesting."

"And this deep, dark secret has been locked away deep inside me in a dark place where I thought I could hide it from my family, the Navy, and even all of Britain."

"Oooh. Continue, Governor."

"But now I fear that this deep, dark secret has become too deep and too dark for me to hide any longer, and if I do not expose it, I fear that shame and tragedy will befall the Swann family."

"This sounds like a Gothic novel."

"Barbossa, can I trust you with this deep, dark secret?"

"Wha's not to trust?"

The Governor paused (this is purely for effect, you know). "Fine. I'll tell you my deep, dark secret… But only after this commercial break."

"Wha's a commercial?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I just blurt out the most ridiculous things. Anyway… What was I saying?"

"You were about to tell me your deep, dark secret."

"Oh yes," the Governor said, becoming very grave once again. "My deep, dark secret. You see, Barbossa, before I ever met Elizabeth's mother, I was in love with this beautiful woman."

"Oooh, drama."

"And she was in love with me—"

Barbossa pouted. "Oh, that's no fun."

"Yes, except I could never marry her. My family absolutely forbid it. Here I was, heir to Port Royal, and there she was, a…a…"

"Out with it, man!"

"A _blacksmith_."

"Oooh! _Very_ interesting!"

"And so, to prevent the marriage and save us from eloping, they exiled her and her family to another island and forbid them to ever return."

"This sounds like something from Shrek."

"Yes, except I am not an ogre."

"Close, though. Except for the wig."

"My parents arranged another marriage, this one to a rich woman who would eventually become Elizabeth's mother. After she passed away, I had the urge to reconnect with my old flame. It was only then that I discovered…"

"Discovered what?"

"My deep, dark secret."

"For the love of Bootstrap Bill, _what_ is your deep, dark secret?"

"Not _what_, Barbossa, _who_."

"Wha'?"

"It turns out, Barbossa, that I have two sons. Two _very special_ sons."

"Special? Well, of course, they be your sons!"

"Uh, their 'special' is even _more_ special on account of the, uh, _situation_."

"Situation, Governor?"

"You see, Barbossa, my sons were born as Siamese twins."

"Siamese twins?" Barbossa repeated. "Where are they? Have you met them?"

"Oh, I have met them."

Barbossa paused. "Well, I assume it would be fairly simple to have met them. I mean, it's not every day that Siamese twins are strolling the docks."

"Aha," nodded the Governor, "but I was deceived for quite some time. They were both separated at birth, both physically and then given to separate adoptive parents. My old flame didn't even know what had become of them, and I had to track them down on my own."

"But you found them, you said. Have they amounted to anything?"

"They've done…quite well. They are a part of the Royal Navy."

"If I weren't a pirate, I'd congratulate you," smirked Barbossa. "Perhaps I've been shot at by one of 'im. What be the bouncing baby boys' names, then, Governor?"

Governor Swann closed his eyes and then said, "Norrington and Gillette."


	4. Psychic Will and a LoveStruck Jack

Chapter Four: "Psychic Will and a Love-struck Jack"

"Nooo!" moaned Barbossa.

"I know, I know!" sobbed Governor Swann. "It's horrible! I should have stopped Norrington while I had the chance!"

"No, not that!" cried Barbossa. "I can't decide whether this sounds like a soap opera or Jerry Springer!"

"It matters not!" exclaimed Governor Swann. "What matters now is that we reach Elizabeth before she marries a pirate or her half-brother!"

"Aye, Governor, but don't the Commodore and Gillette know the truth?"

"If Norrington knew the truth, do you suppose he'd be rushing off after her!"

"That be a good point there, Governor. I say you straighten this lively—uh, what be the word?—_situation_ out with 'em as soon as possible."

"You're right, Barbossa. We had better recruit Gillette and the three of us can sail after Norrington and my daughter."

"And Jack Sparrow," added Barbossa, his eyes glinting with a plan for revenge.

Back at the _Skull and Crossbones_, Arnold Schwartzenegger was campaigning for a second term when the doors to the pub flew open.

"JJJAAACCCKKK!"

"Yes?" Nicholson answered.

"No, not you!" The person who was speaking sauntered in through the door. They recognized his Commodore outfit immediately.

"Hey, you're that annoying old guy from the Navy that Jack always talks about!" cried Jennifer Aniston. "What happened to your hat?"

"My name is Commodore Norrington," he announced pompously, "and I am here to speak with Jack Sparrow." His eyes drifted uncertainly around the pub. "This wasn't here last time, was it?"

Jerry Bruckheimer stood up. "Welcome to the _Skull and Crossbones_, Jack's pride of the Caribbean. I'm sorry to tell you that he's out right now."

"Wow, check this place out! They even have strobe lights!" cheered Gillette, who quickly became dizzy and collapsed to the floor.

Norrington tried to suppress his agitation. "He's out? Out where? When do you expect him back?"

"Don't know," shrugged Bruckheimer. "But you can ask Seacrest over there."

In no time, Norrington had cornered the hot host of _American Idol_.

"You!" sneered Norrington. "Tell me where Jack Sparrow is!"

"Huh? What's going on?" blubbered Ryan.

"You know perfectly well what's going on. Stop trying to cover up for the swashbuckling idiot. Where did Jack Sparrow go?"

"Well, Norrington—it is Norrington, isn't it?"

"Commodore."

"Commodore, yes, all right. Actually, I have to respect Mr. Sparrow's privacy—"

"Forget _Mr. Sparrow's privacy_!" shrieked Norrington. "I'm better-looking than you! Now, answer me!"

"All right, all right. Watch the hair—I have a show tonight, Commodore. Okay, he got a text message from Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth!" sighed Norrington, relieved. "Good! Hey, why would she text message _him_?"

"And she said that she had been kidnapped by…oh, what was the name? Started with an 'M'…"

Norrington looked like he was about to blow a fuse.

"Maggascotchi! That was it! And she needed help. So Jack and Will sailed off to find her."

"Wait! Will was here, too?" Norrington didn't wait any longer for an answer. Instead, he dragged a woozy Gillette off the pub floor and headed quickly for the door, annoyed.

"Wait, wait!" interrupted Gillette, spotting someone. "That's Jerry Bruckheimer! Hey, Mr. Bruckheimer! Sir! I have a splendid idea for your next film! It's called _Commodores of the Caribbean_!"

"**Good luck on your search**," Arnold called as the two disappeared out the door, "**and remember to vote for Arnold**."

Norrington had barely taken one footstep out the door when a burst of bad breath hit him full in the face.

"JJJAAACCCKKK!"

"Hey, look, it's Mr. Gibbs!" grinned Gillette. "What are you doing here?"

"It be _Captain_ Gibbs now, mates," the man announced.

"Oh, great, not another one," muttered Norrington. He looked out towards the ocean and saw the Black Pearl, crew and all, moored offshore beside the Dauntless. Well, that had been the _intention_. Thanks to some vague steering directions from Cotton (they kind of forgot that he couldn't talk, especially without his parrot), Gibbs had rammed straight into the side of the Dauntless. All that remained was the Dauntless's crow's nest peeking pitifully out of the water, and in a few seconds, even that disappeared beneath the ocean waves.

"Curse you pirates!" shouted Norrington, throwing his soggy hat down in disgust. "Whoever let you get near a helm needs their brain examined!"

"Well, Commodore, I didn't see this one coming," commented Gillette.

"Oh, was that your ship?" Gibbs—oh, we're sorry—_Captain_ Gibbs said offhandedly. "Um, have either of you seen Jack?"

"You're his crew! Shouldn't _you_ know where he is?" retorted Norrington.

"He not be a part of our crew anymore, not after what 'e did."

Gillette raised his eyebrows. "What did he do?"

"'E ate poor ol' Cotton's parrot."

"This is ridiculous!" Norrington exclaimed. "I've been sunk twice in one day, I have to put up with Lieutenant Tag-A-Long, Elizabeth's been kidnapped, and at this point I have no way of saving her and becoming respectable ever again! And _why_ is everybody obsessed with finding _Jack Sparrow_!"

"Because he's the main character of this story?" Gillette suggested.

"_Pff! _Hardly! I have twice as many lines as he does!" snorted Norrington.

"But he has the GQ cover looks."

"What are you implying, Gillette?"

"Actually," Captain Gibbs cut in, sheepishly, "we 'eard bout his pub, and, uh, our supplies were running a bit low, and…uh…"

"You came crawling back on your hands and knees to beg for him to return to the Pearl."

"Either that or I wanted a joint partnership in the _Skull and Crossbones_."

"Well don't bother," Norrington intervened, "Jack Sparrow isn't here."

"Elizabeth was kidnapped by Maggascotchi, and Jack and Will both went out to rescue her," explained Gillette.

"Who's Maggascotchi?" asked Gibbs.

"Apparently, the most feared woman pirate of the high seas, according to Barbossa."

Captain Gibbs blinked. "Wait. Barbossa's not dead?"

"Nope. He _was_ baked in a cake, though."

"Shut up! Everybody just shut up!" exclaimed Norrington. "Listen to me! I am the most important guy here, and you two are making this story absolutely _boring_! Now, I see no other choice but to…to j—…to…to _join_…" he cringed, "…to _join forces_, on account that you idiots sunk my ship. We can sail out after Jack Sparrow t-t-together—"

"Like one big happy family!" cheered Gillette.

"If I were related to you, I'd shoot myself," muttered Norrington.

Gibbs scratched his scruffy, gray beard. "I don't know. Wha' be in it fer us?"

"A detour from the noose."

"Aye! Welcome aboard the Black Pearl, Commodore!"

As they trampled back on deck, Norrington turned to Gillette who trailed behind him.

"Gillette, I have a very special assignment for you. I want you to _stay here_."

"Stay here, sir? Stay here and do what?"

"Just stay here. That's your special assignment. Good luck."

"Good luck findin' Elizabeth now," grumbled Jack, squinting at his stubborn compass that didn't point north. Disgusted, he threw it down on the deck. "Wha' good be it? I don't know where I'm bloody sailin' to anyway!" He turned around to find Will plucking at his costume. "Will, _why_ are still dressed like the governor?"

"I don't know…" Will blushed. "It just makes me feel kinda important."

Jack rolled his eyes and returned to steering the _Paris Hilton_ aimlessly among the waves. "You know, Will, it would be nice if you could do something a bit constructive for this little escapade."

"I could braid your hair."

"Something that might help us find your bonny lass, I mean. Do you have even the _slightest_ idea of where she might be?"

"That's why I came to find you!"

Jack couldn't help smirking. "Captain Jack Sparrow 'ere to save the day again, eh?"

Twisting the pink curls of his wig around his finger, Will suddenly felt useless. After all, _he_ was supposed to be the one out rescuing Elizabeth to prove his love for her; if he let _Jack_ do everything, that would be like cheating. _Gasp_! Cheating! The only thing worse was complete and utter separation from his lemon meringue. Figuring he'd better think of something to contribute quickly, he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind:

"Maggascotchi might be headed for Tortuga."

"Tortuga? Wha' make you say that?"

He had Jack's full attention now, but knew nothing else to say. Finally, he just decided to start making things up. At least it sounded good. "Well, after all, Maggascotchi's the most feared woman pirate—"

"—To ever sail the high seas, yes, yes, I know that. And?"

"And…she…she's always admired you—"

"She has?"

"Oh, yes, of course. And after—after hearing about your adventures on the _Black Pearl_ she thought it would be great to meet you personally. She thought for sure that she'd run into you in Tortuga."

"Did she now," smiled Jack, looking completely pleased with himself. "Well, wha' can you expect? After all, I _am_ Captain Jack Sparrow. What else do you know 'bout 'er?"

"Uh…she…she has dark hair…and—"

"Oh," Jack sighed disappointedly, "dark hair, eh?"

"No, no, no! Actually, it's…uh…blonde! Yeah, it's blonde…"

"But you jess said it was dark…"

"Well…it is when your eyes are closed!"

"Right you are!" Jack cheered. "Say, wha' color eyes does she 'ave?"

"Well…she—"

"I've always had a thing for blue eyes…"

"That's right, Jack! She has blue eyes!"

"…But…then again…I like brown eyes too…I just can't decide…"

"Brown! She has brown eyes! Brown and blue eyes!"

"Wha?"

"One brown and one blue!"

"Aye, so I could look at the left side of 'er face when I feel like one color, and the right side when I feel like the other!"

"That way they're _both _the right sides!" cheered Will enthusiastically.

"Say, Will," Jack pressed, "does Maggascotchi 'appen to speak French and have a thing for huge sunglasses?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Er…do you like that…?"

"Corse!"

"Yeah, then! She speaks French and likes huge sunglasses!"

By the time the conversation wound down, Maggascotchi had become the high-sailin', tacky-T-shirt-wearin', weird-hat-donnin', pink-wig-hatin', Mademoiselle of Jack's dreams.

"But, Will," Jack said after a moment, thinking it was too good to be true, "how do you know all this 'bout Maggascotchi?"

Pause.

"Let me guess. You're psychic."

"I knew you would know."

"I knew you would know," Barbossa declared, following the Governor through Port Royal.

"Know what?" Governor Swann asked half-mindedly.

"I don't know…" Barbossa trailed, captivated by the gleaming ships in the harbor off the docks that he could commandeer.

"Come on, Barbossa, hurry up! We must get to Gillette's house!" the Governor urged, before a voice rang out:

"You! Back already?"

Governor Swann turned around. "What?"

"Yes, you! The pathetic man with the pink wig! Did you find your fiancé already?"

Barbossa and the Governor ambled down to the docks and the harbormaster, a confused look creasing the governor's face.

"Just _what_ in the name of Great Britain are you talking about?" he demanded.

"Oh," the harbormaster said, spotting the elderly, creased face of the Governor and realizing his error. "I thought you were someone else."

Barbossa blinked. "There's someone else who has a _pink wig_?"

"Aye. Some rambling blacksmith—"

"Will!"

"—who was dumped by his fiance—"

"Elizabeth!"

"—and went out in search to find her. And then some raging mad lunatic from the Royal Navy—"

"Norrington!"

"—sailed out after him. And _then_ another dimwitted fellow from the Navy followed _him_—"

"Gillette!"

"—and that was the last I saw of any of 'em. Now, how may I help you?"

"But why would Will have a pink wig? That's not his color!" pondered Barbossa.

"And how could Will have gotten a letter from Elizabeth? I thought she was kidnapped!" continued Governor Swann.

"And how can you two just stand here and ask stupid questions when you're _obviously_ in need of one of my fine ships?" cut in the harbormaster. "I suggest _The Odd Couple_ would fit you two splendidly."

So, baffled and not entirely sure what they were doing, Governor Swann and Barbossa lumbered onto the ship and sailed out in search of Gillette, Norrington, Will, Jack Sparrow, and Elizabeth—not completely certain which one they were aiming for, but just hoping that they'd run into one of them before Chapter Six.

_CLIP-CLOP-CLIP-CLOP_.

Barbossa stopped, grabbing a hold of Governor Swann's frock.

"Governor," he whispered under his breath, "are you wearing _heels_?"

"I _beg your pardon_."

"Well, it's not _me_ clip-clop-clopping!" retorted Barbossa.

"Are you sure?" the Governor questioned.

"Yes, I'm sure."

"You said you're sure?" Governor Swann asked, the salty ocean breeze gusting curls of the wig into his ears and preventing his hearing.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Who's sure?"

"_I'm _sure!"

"I'm sure?"

"Not _you're_ sure!"

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure!"

"Sure what?"

"She sells seashells by the seashore!"

"Ohhh," nodded the Governor. "I like playing horseshoes, too!"

With the wig clogging his ears, Governor Swann couldn't hear any noise that the pirate was referring to. The Governor, rolling his eyes, discarded the rude comment and the two set sail. The _clip-clop-clip_ was drowned out by the roar of the waves.


	5. Aflagonaship

Chapter Five "Aflagonaship"

"A' right, Norry," Captain Gibbs explained, "long as ye be on this—er, 'scuse me—_me_ ship, ye'll be needin' te carry yer own weight."

Commodore 'Norry' eyed the sailor-gone-pirate. "I see," he murmured. "However, _I_ am the Commodore of the British Royal Navy, and I, certainly you understand, should be awarded with the power to govern this ship—seeing as I hold your fate in my hands. Noose, freedom, noose, freedom."

"Funny," smirked Captain Gibbs, "because, the way I be seein' it, _yer _the one outnumbered 'ere. Yer Royal Navy is miles away from 'ere, and without Seacrest's cell phone, you have no way of contactin' 'em. Looks like yer fate is in _me_ hands. Maroon, mop, maroon, mop. Yer choice, Norry."

Norrington quirked an eyebrow.

"…Mop?" he asked.

"Aye," confirmed Captain Gibbs, gesturing to a slimy bucket of seawater and a grimy mop, "mop."

"You must be kidding," Norrington tried. "I can't…_touch that_! It's filthy!"

"Anamaria!" called Captain Gibbs to the helm.

"Aye, sir!" she inquired.

"Steer us off towards 'at _fine _island, o'er there. Good ol' Norry 'ere wants to go fer a swim!"

"NO! I mean, no, no," he cut-in through clenched teeth, glaring at Captain Gibbs. Then added stubbornly, "I'll mop."

"Good choice!" the captain cheered, slapping Norrington on the back, almost sending him to the deck. He strutted off, leaving a horrified Norrington staring aghast at the grubby handprint on the back of his uniform.

A half-hour later Norrington was still moping and mopping, throwing the sludge on the deck, desperately trying to devise a plan.

"YO HO! YO HO! A PIRATE'S LIFE FER ME!" Captain Gibbs came flying out of nowhere, bashing into everyone's favorite Commodore, sending him head-first into the heap of muddy goo on the deck.

"You better enjoy that life now because it's not going to last much longer!" shrieked Norrington, who, in his haste to retaliate, skidded across the deck and landed with another loud face-plant.

"WE KIDNAP AND RAVAGE AND DON'T GIVE A HOOT! NORRY IS MAD AND SMELLS LIKE A BOOT! DRINK UP ME HEARTIES, YO HO!" Captain Gibbs continued, empty bottle of rum in hand.

"Idiot!" raged Norrington. "I'm stuck on a pirate ship with a drunk captain, I'm covered in muck, I, apparently, smell like a boot, and I am no closer to rescuing the love of my life who rejected me for a lemon-meringue-pie-loving, poor excuse for a blacksmith! Could life get any worse?"

SMACK! Captain Gibbs's glass beer bottle hit Norrington square in the forehead. The last thing the Commodore saw before passing out was Gibbs passing out.

"**So remember to vote for Arnold and Gillette. Thank you. God bless you. You are all wonderful. And God bless California.**"

Arnold Schwartzenegger descended from the podium amid frenzied applause from the crowd at the Skull and Crossbones. A nervous Gillette teetered after.

"Uh, excuse me, Governor?" he began timidly. "I don't know if I really want to go into politics, honestly."

"**Gillette. Let me tell you something. When I first came over here, I was a great bodybuilder. But I did not stop there. I went on to become a great actor. But I did not stop there. I became Governor of California.**"

"And let me guess. You're not going to stop there?"

"**No, this is good. But I am running for a second term. And I want you to run with me as my right-hand man.** **I've seen how you work with the Commodore, and you have many admirable qualities that I am looking for.**"

Impressed, Gillette asked, "Really? Like what?"

"**You look great on camera. That is all I need right now.**"

"Uh, Governor," Gillette, once again uncertain, pressed, "maybe I should just be the guy to decorate at your rallies. You know, drop the balloons?"

"**Ha ha, that's funny. Americans love a sense of humor. Keep them laughing**."

Gillette was about to make a vain protest one last time when a voice barreled into the Skull and Crossbones.

"JJJAAACCCKKK!"

"My _God_, the _fourth time_!" Jennifer Aniston complained, throwing up her hands.

"It's not for me, is it?" asked a disappointed Nicholson.

Gillette looked up to find someone that looked extremely like the Governor standing in the doorway.

"Will! Back already?" Jerry Bruckheimer questioned.

"I'M NOT WILL!" the figure exclaimed. "I'M THE GOVERNOR!"

"**Correction: I'm the Governor!**" Schwartzenegger replied.

"No, let me assure you, he _be _the Governor," said Barbossa, stepping in from behind Swann.

"**Well, let me assure you. Californians know how to vote correctly. This isn't Florida**."

"_California_? I'm the Governor of Port Royal!" exclaimed Governor Swann, completely exasperated.

"Governor Swann! What are you doing here?" asked Gillette.

"We have come to stop the wedding! Where's Jack? Where's Norrington? Where's my _mind_?"

"They've all gone out looking for Elizabeth and Maggascotchi," explained Gillette. "I'm on a special mission here at the pub. I guess I'm helping Mr. Schwartzenegger run for a second term."

"Well, matey, we don't have time to diverse into politics, do we?" muttered Barbossa, agitated with every second that delayed him from getting revenge upon Jack. "It means we be leavin'. Now."

"**Wait, wait**," Arnold cut in as Barbossa and Governor Swann each grabbed one of Gillette's arms and began dragging him out of the pub. The ex-bodybuilder lifted both pirate and Governor off the ground with the ease of flicking a toothpick. "**Gillette is working for me now. He stays**."

The Governor's feet dangled helplessly in the air. "No, he _goes_."

"**You will not terminate my plans**," Arnold said seriously. "**I say he stays.**"

"This is great!" cheered Bruckheimer. "Quick! Somebody grab a camera!"

"**He is the most photogenic person I have seen out here. Ha ha. And he's funny.**"

"He's my son!" shrieked Governor Swann.

PLOP! Arnold dropped both the Governor and Barbossa back to the floor in an instant.

"WHAT?" asked just about every conscious person in the pub.

"It all be part of a deep, dark secret," smiled Barbossa. "Let's go Gillette. Jack Sparrow—er, Elizabeth be waitin'."

A dazed and confused Gillette stumbled after the first two men ahead of him.

"Wait, I don't understand…"

"I'll explain everything on the way, son," said the Governor, and the group left the pub, hearing Arnold sob behind them,

"**I never knew my father…! Hey, I will get pity votes now!**"

Through blurry vision, Commodore Norrington squinted his eyes to focus on Cotton's face, looming above him.

"Strange," he murmured, "God looks an awful lot like Cotton…"

God suddenly smiled a semi-toothy, tongue-less grin, making Norrington shiver. The Commodore looked over God's shoulder, where one of His angels was floating behind him.

"Ye be lucky yer not dead," she said bluntly.

"What?" Norrington asked, groggily.

"That lump on yer forehead," she answered, while Cotton pointed to his own head.

Norrington lifted a hand to his head, suddenly aware of a throbbing pain echoing through his temples. "Who shot me…?"

"No one," Anamaria said off-handedly, "you just got the downside of Gibbs's drunken escapade. The rest of us thought it was kind of funny. And you wouldn't believe how much more likable you are when you're mouth is shut."

Norrington warily dragged himself to his feet, rubbing his head. "What's going on? Did we reach Elizabeth yet? Where's our idiot _Capitan_?"

"He's below deck, lying in the Captain's Cabin, sleeping off the rum last time we checked."

Norrington's eyes flickered from Ana to Cotton, to the pile of sludge he was still next to…

"I'm still on deck?" he questioned, looking around.

"Yeah. I mean, why bother taking you to a room—you'd just stink up the place more."

He ignored the comment. "Where are we now?"

"Headed fer Tortuga—"

"Tortuga! What makes you think Elizabeth will be in _Tortuga_!"

"Nothing."

He stared incredulously.

"We just need more rum. Think ya can finish swabbin' the deck while I take th' helm?"

Norrington couldn't move.

"Good," she said, walking off.

"This isn't fair," Norrington mumbled to himself, grabbing the mop and beginning to wash in disgust. "What did I ever do to deserve this? I used to be a fine, respectable, attractive young man. Then, _then_, I had to run into _Jack Sparrow_. And _then_ I had to meet _Will Turner_. And _then_ I had to lose Elizabeth to that blacksmith! Why? Why? Why?"

He glanced up to find Cotton, still standing beside him, that impish grin cracking across his face.

"Are you enjoying the show?" Norrington asked sarcastically. "Why aren't _you_ mopping!"

Cotton responded with a series of intricate hand gestures.

"Ah, I see. You're mourning for your beloved parrot," snarled Norrington. He stopped. "My God, what's happening to me? I _understood_ him!"

Cotton clapped his hands enthusiastically, then gestured for him to keep mopping.

"Well, why you're just standing there, you have the opportunity to appreciate one of my gifted monologues," Norrington announced, and then dissolved into Norry's Daydream of his Perfect Life……

-----------------------

General Norrington was lounging about in his three-story mansion. His wife, Elizabeth Norrington, was intently working on a sampler that proclaimed, "The Pride of the Royal Navy Gen. Norrington". Practicing their sword-fighting skills were the children, Norrington, Jr., Little Norrington, and Li'l Norry (who, with that name alone, had been offered countless rap deals with music industries across the Caribbean).

"My life is so perfect," sighed Norrington, happily.

"And you're the most perfect, attractively conceited person I've ever met," sighed Elizabeth.

"We have a wonderful house, wonderful sons, and a wonderfully Jack Sparrow-free life."

"And no blacksmiths to speak of, my dearest General Honey-Bunch."

"Thank goodness for that, Sweetie-Sugar-Buns. Your father has gotten a brand new wig, and with his prestigious position as Governor of Port Royal, he gives us all the money we'll ever need and I'll never have to work another day of my life!"

"Isn't it wonderful, Schnookums?"

"And Gillette has been shipped off to China!"

"And he sends us all those wonderfully cheap products," smiled Elizabeth.

"But best of all, most wonderfully wonderfullest of all that is wonderful, is…"

Norrington pressed a button on a remote that he cradled in the palm of his hand, and the back wall of the room swung open.

"I have a personal, unlimited Ice Cream Parlor!"

"Complete with three-hundred and nine wonderful flavors…"

"Chocolate, vanilla, graham-cracker, and chocolate chip cones…"

"Forty-two different kinds of sprinkles…"

"Hot fudge, medium-hot fudge, imported nuts, freshly picked bananas…"

The family looked at each other fondly.

"And, best of all, no lemon meringue!" they all chorused joyfully, then dissolved into wonderfully fake, sitcom laughter.

---------------------------------

"Well, that was pointless," muttered Norrington after finishing. He sighed. "The day I get an ice cream parlor is the day I find out I was a Siamese twin!"

Jack was in his cabin, reapplying the kohl beneath his eyes for what had to be the thousandth time.

"JACK!" called Will from up on deck. "What's taking so long?"

"Hafta look me best fer Maggascotchi!" Jack replied, finishing up. He studied himself in the mirror, grinning widely, discovering a piece of yesterday's lunch lodged between his teeth. He went to scrape it out when he froze. "'Ey! Will!" he shouted. "Does Maggascotchi like pork?"

"Eh, yeah?"

"All right-y then," Jack beamed, letting it there. "Ne'er been 'ne fer dental hygiene meself!" He marched up on deck. "We at Tortuga, yet?"

"Almost," Will replied, taking his eye away from the spyglass. "About an hour away."

"'At's fine, Willy-boy, so's 'ow 'bout you tell me more 'bout Maggascotchi."

"Umm," Will said nervously, "I think I've told you everything I know about her…"

"Awe, c'mon, Will! I need to know _everything_ 'bout dis girl! What's her favorite pastime? How many bottles of rum can she down? How long does it take her to grow mold between her toes!" By this time, he was shaking Will by the shoulders. "I wanna make a good first impression!"

"Jack…are you sure this is healthy? You're sounding a bit obsessed…"

"Wha's wrong wit it?" he questioned defensively, releasing the blacksmith and pacing around deck. "Ye'll get yer girl, and I'll git mine!" He stopped, turning to Will, throwing his hands out enthusiastically. "We could 'ave a double wedding! Drinks all around!"

"Oh, Lord," Will mumbled to himself, "what have I started…?"

"Will! Gimme 'at spyglass!"

"Why?"

"I think I see somethin'!"

"I don't see anything."

"GIVE IT TO ME!" Jack exploded, prying it from Will's hands. He looked through the eyepiece, leaning over the railing of the ship, trying to get closer to whatever it was he was looking for. "Look! A flag! A flag! A flag, a flag, a flag!" he bubbled.

"A flag…?"

"A flag on a ship! Aflagonaship! Aflagonaship!"

"What flag on a ship?"

"_Dis_ one!"

Jack shoved the spyglass back into Will's hands and directed his sight out across the ocean, straight in front of them.

A battered ship floated off the coast of Tortuga, raising a skull and crossbones flag that read, "Maggascotchi".


	6. The Truth Behind Maggascotchi

Chapter Six "The Truth Behind Maggascotchi"

"CAN'T THIS BLOODY SHIP GO ANY FASTER!" shrieked Jack, waving madly to Will to raise every sail the _Paris Hilton_ had.

"I never knew you cared so much about rescuing Elizabeth," smiled Will, shyly. "Thanks. You're such a great friend, Jack."

"Ye better 'ope yer fiancé didn't harm a hair on Maggascotchi's head," muttered Jack.

Will blinked. "Wait. I thought _Elizabeth_ was the one in danger here."

Jack was about to make another sarcastic remark when he spotted two other ships whizzing in the same direction.

"Hey look," laughed Will, peering through the spyglass, "that one guy's uglier than Norrington!"

Jack took a look for himself. "That _is _Norrington! What be 'appenin' 'ere…?"

"Hey, Jack…? Isn't he sailing the Black Pearl?"

The realization struck Jack harder than most women smacked him. "So Norrington commandeered me ship, eh? Serves Gibbs right."

"What do you mean, 'Serves Gibbs right?'" repeated Will, who never knew the reason why Jack had been marooned in the first place.

BOOOOM!

"Hit the deck!"

"Put your right foot in, put your right foot out—"

Jack tackled Will to the ground just as something large and slimy rocketed above their heads and collided with the railing on the starboard side, shattering into a zillion—wooden?—pieces.

"They're firin' at us!" shouted Jack.

BOOOOM!

A moment later, something else sailed through the air and dumped sludge over Will's pink Governor wig.

"Oh, lovely, that's an improvement, Will," said Jack, admirably. "At least you smell like a boot, now."

"What _is _this?" asked Will, wringing the gooey liquid from his curls. "A bucket and mop?"

Maniacal cackling broke into their bewilderment, and the two looked over the deck to see Norrington, steering gleefully past them in the Black Pearl, with Anamaria and Gibbs trying to drag him off the helm.

"Hello, Jack! Hello, Will!"

"That's _Captain_ Jack!"

"And that's—oh, yeah, Will."

"I just thought you'd like to know," smirked Norrington as he sped ahead of the _Paris Hilton_ and closer to Maggascotchi, "you will _all_ remember this as the day when _I _marry Elizabeth and bring Maggascotchi to justice!" More maniacal laughter.

"He certainly seems happy today," commented Will. "Maybe he had some of that lemon meringue."

"Are you deaf!" exclaimed Jack. "Didn't you hear what 'e jess said? They're trying to get to Maggascotchi first, and if that 'appens, there will be no double-weddin' to speak of cause Norrington will have stolen away Elizabeth!"

"No!" cried Will. "We will beat them! Load the cannons!"

"Wait, no!" gasped Jack. "Ye can't fire at me Black Pearl! I can't 'ave holes in me ship!"

"Uh…Jack?"

"_What_?"

"Who's that sailing the other ship?"

But before Jack could turn around to look, an apple smacked him right in the back of the head. Spinning around, he caught sight of the thrower.

"Apple, Jack?" smirked Barbossa, tossing another one in his direction. "And may I remind ye. Ye owe me a hat. A big hat."

"B-Barbossa?" stuttered Jack. "I thought ye were _dead_!"

"You're toenails are _red_?" repeated the frazzled Governor from beside him, his wig blowing in the sea air again and affecting his hearing.

"_Governor Swann_?" gasped Will.

"_Another_ Governor Swann?" gasped Governor Swann, who couldn't make out Will from beneath his flawless costume.

CLIP-CLOP-CLIP!

"Gillette, stop making so much noise!" snapped Barbossa.

"Aw, Dad, you didn't have to!"

"Have to what?" asked the Governor, puzzled.

"Have to buy me a pony!" smiled Gillette, and a second later came trampling out of the lower deck riding the stowaway donkey.

"Hey! You stole my donkey!" accused Will. Jack grabbed him before he leaped over the rail to retrieve the animal. "Give it back!"

In the confusion, the donkey panicked and bucked into Barbossa, throwing out the pirate's back and his control of the ship. The _Odd Couple_ rammed into the back of the Black Pearl with a grating THUD, sending Norrington halfway over the railing and shouting insults at anyone within hearing distance.

The collision sent both ships sprawling off course, and Jack recognized his opportunity.

"We've got a clear path now!" he cheered. "Onward to Maggascotchi!"

Minutes later, Jack and Will had scaled up the side of Maggascotchi's rotting ship, which was moored right off the coast of Tortuga. After a quick scan of the filthy deck, they spotted a figure perched at the helm. Her matted, blonde hair cascaded down her back, whipping around her tanned face and sharply-defined features.

"Which side is the blue eye?" hissed Jack.

"The side that's not the brown one," replied Will. "Oh, I'm good."

"Captain Jack Sparrow," the figure announced, "we finally meet. I am the most feared woman pirate of the high seas, Maggascotchi." She eyed him. "You're later than I expected."

"You try dragging Will around," explained Jack, cocking his head towards the blacksmith.

"Will?" repeated Maggascotchi, raising an eyebrow, fumbling with her words. "Why is _he_ here? And _why_ is he dressed like the Governor?"

"Where's Elizabeth?" Will demanded. "We have a wedding to plan!"

Maggascotchi abandoned the helm and approached them, gliding with her long, proper gait. "I'm afraid to tell you that you will never see Miss Swann again."

"Why? Am I going blind? No!" cried Will.

"Uh, Will, I _don't think _that's what she means," said Jack as understandingly as he could.

"What…?" Suddenly, realization dawned on him. "No! Jack! You're girlfriend took cat-fighting to a _whole_ other level!"

"Stop hitting me!" shouted Jack. "It's not my fault! It's not my fault!" He took out his pistol and aimed at the blacksmith. "This shot is not meant for you."

"Who's it for then?"

Jack paused temporarily. "I don't know, I 'aven't decided yet—but it's not fer you!"

"Stop it, Will! You're bruising my fiancé!"

"No fair! No fair! I didn't get to propose yet! And I had a speech all planned out!" complained Jack.

"A speech?" Maggascotchi and Will both stopped.

"Wait, it'll come to me…" Jack squinted. "Oh, now you both got me so bloody worked up I've forgotten it! It's lost to Davy Jones locker forever!"

"At least your girlfriend isn't!" sobbed Will. "And I even passed her test!"

"Test?" repeated a befuddled Maggascotchi. "What test?"

"I had to find her to prove my love for her!" whimpered Will. "But _you_ ruined _everything_!"

"Don't speak to me girl like that!" Jack jumped in defensively. "Now, I know we can all work this out—"

"Nobody _move_!" Commodore Norrington's sneering voice broke in. "_Everyone_ is under arrest. Maggascotchi, for kidnapping my love and sailing under a pirate's brand. Jack, for just being yourself. And Will, for _ruining my life_."

"Can I really be charged for that?" questioned Will.

"'Corse not! Otherwise Norrington would be serving a life sentence!" laughed Jack.

"Drop your weapons! _All of them_! Drop them!" snapped Norrington, pointing his sword menacingly at the group.

"Not so fast." The sound of a cocking pistol from behind Norrington froze everything. Barbossa's eyes gleamed with that evil-villain gleam that they always have in the movies. "I believe _you_ will be dropping yer weapon too, Commodore."

"What's going on here?" inquired Governor Swann, leaping clumsily off the side of the _Odd Couple_ and onto the Pearl, followed by Gillette, and then the donkey.

"Barbossa!" yet another voice called. "Drop _yer _weapon." Gibbs and Anamaria stepped into the confusion, Gibbs pointing a pistol in Barbossa's direction.

"Hey! It's like a party!" smiled Gillette.

"I thought I _told you_ to _stay_ at the Skull and Crossbones," seethed Norrington, glaring at Gillette.

"Yeah, ya see, I did, but then Governor Swann came and told me that you were—"

"In _no need_ of your _assistance_!" the Commodore interrupted.

Maggascotchi's eyes darted from one frenzied group to another. "I sent for Jack Sparrow, and that's all. The rest of you can solve your little problems somewhere _other_ than _my ship_."

"And speaking of ships, what were you doing with _mine_?" Jack shot at Norrington.

"The Pearl be _me ship_," corrected Gibbs, giving his pistol a temporary shake in the Commodore's direction before aiming back at Barbossa. "Isn't that right, Norry?"

"'Norry!'" repeated Gillette. "Hey, can I have a nickname, too?"

"Gillette, how _did_ you get here?" snapped the Commodore.

"Well, after I found out the deep, dark secret, I realized that I might have a kind of telekinesis."

"Did you just sneeze in French?" asked Will.

"_No_, I mean I might be psychic!"

"Gasp!" gasped Will. "I'm psychic too!"

"Gasp!" gasped Gillette. "I knew you were going to say that!"

"Gasp!" gasped Norrington. "You all are idiots! Oh, wait, why would that surprise me?"

"Because you're psychic too?" asked Will and Gillette at the same time.

"Maggascotchi, in the name of the Royal Navy, _where _is my daughter?" exclaimed Governor Swann.

Gibbs blinked. "What do you mean, 'your daughter'? Isn't she _his_ daughter?" He pointed to Will, who, conveniently, was still dressed identically to the Governor.

"No, she's my fiancé," corrected Will.

"You're marrying your daughter?"

"_No_!"

Anamaria glanced from one Governor to the other "Governor." "Wait jess a minute. Who's the _real_ Governor Swann?"

"I AM!" both suspects proclaimed.

"Jess pick whichever one, what's the difference?" sighed a frustrated Jack. "And then _leave _so I can marry me fiancé!"

"No one's marrying _anyone_ until _I_ give my consent!" argued Governor Swann.

"There's only one way to tell," Maggascotchi cut in. "Governors, what's your favorite food?"

"Ooh! Ooh! That's an easy one! Lemon-meringue!" cheered Will.

"That's not the Governor," everyone chorused, decidedly.

Jack stared at Will, who was doing a victory dance after apparently answering correctly. "But Will," he said, "why would you want to be confused with the Governor?"

Will stopped. "I don't know—I got confused. I'm Will, right?"

BANG!

Someone shrieked and everyone froze after Norrington fired his gun into the air.

"All right, that's enough!" he snapped. "Maggascotchi, I _demand_ that you release Elizabeth to me this instant!"

"Uh, she can't really do that," mumbled Jack.

"Because Elizabeth's _gone_, gone forever and ever and ever and ever!" sobbed Will, breaking down into hysterical tears. "I can't take it anymore!" and with that, threw himself off the deck of the ship and into the ocean with a dramatic _splash_. The donkey bucked Gillette off and collapsed in grief.

"That's one down, two to go," muttered Norrington, eyeing Jack and Maggascotchi. He glanced over and saw Gillette, dashing towards his fallen donkey. "Correction, three."

"You're all obviously upset over nothing," Maggascotchi continued, inching her way closer to Jack as everyone with a weapon decided to point in her direction. "Elizabeth never would have run away if she was happy to begin with. You all cause her such unnecessary stress!"

The Governor narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, 'run away'? _You're_ the one who kidnapped my beloved daughter and left a ransom note! You declared your love for Will!"

Jack, horrified, spun to look at his "fiancé." "No, it's not true," he whispered. "I thought you were in love with _me_."

"I—I am," blubbered Maggascotchi.

"Not according to _this_!" cried the Governor, whipping the ransom note out of his pocket and waving it for everyone to see. "You love Will Turner!"

The truth was entirely too hard for Jack to handle, and in no time flat he, too, had leaped off the ship…and passed Will on his way down.

"Wow, that was refreshing," the blacksmith said as he plopped himself back on deck. "Now, what's happening?" he questioned, standing up on his feet.

"No, no, no!" pouted Norrington. "Get back down there!"

"Okay," agreed Will, and immediately collapsed back to the deck.

"Jack!" cried Maggascotchi, in agony. She turned back towards the Governor. "You ruin everything! Always! Why can't you just let me make my own decisions? I'm a grown woman and you still treat me like a three-year-old!"

"I didn't even _know you_ as a three-year-old, although I'm sure you were quite likable," blubbered the Governor, spotting the sword Maggascotchi had looped to her belt.

"Enough!" bellowed Norrington. He drew back his sword, prompting Gibbs to take final aim with his pistol, Barbossa's finger to twitch closer to the trigger, and Anamaria to hastily grab her gun.

"WAIT! I REMEMBER!"

Right before anyone could get off a shot, a drenched Jack scuffled desperately back on deck.

"For the love of—" Norrington began.

"I REMEMBER MY SPEECH!" cried Jack. He knelt before Maggascotchi, whipping off his hat with as much finesse as he could muster. A trout flopped out.

"My Maggascotchi—that's an alliteration, ye know—I've lived some forty years—and I know, ye can't tell, can ye?—and I've learned how unpredictable life can be. After all, I've been supposin' that Barbossa was _dead_!"

Norrington fought back a gag.

"But, if there's one thing that I wish to be a constant in me pirate life, it would be y—"

Maggascotchi, who had been smiling happily, suddenly frowned when she saw doubt flicker across Jack's face.

"Yes? It would be…"

"It would be… You have two brown eyes!"

"Were you expecting a third?" Norrington cut in.

"Yes, I have two brown eyes," agreed Maggascotchi, puzzled. "What's wrong with that?"

"Will told me you had _one_ brown and one blue."

"Oops," Will said.

"Maggascotchi, ----------?"

She stared at him, shaking her head. "Jack, I can't understand a word you're saying!"

"And you don't speak French!" gasped Jack. He leaped out of his kneeling position and whipped out his pistol with one shot. "You're not Maggascotchi!"

Barbossa gave a sigh of relief and slipped up with, "Good! I was beginning to think she really _did_ exist!"

Everyone spun towards him.

"Eh—I mean—_Corse_ she exists!"

"That's not what you said," accused Norrington. "What have you lied about?"

"The only thing I've lied about has been the truth!"

"_What_?"

"And how did Maggascotchi know that I liked lemon meringue?" Will asked all of a sudden.

"And what was that about a deep, dark secret?" remembered Norrington.

"And why does my pony have such a strong affection for Will?" asked Gillette.

"And _why_ is Barbossa _not dead_?" added Jack.

"Wait," the Governor interrupted. "If Maggascotchi isn't Maggascotchi, than who _is_ Maggascotchi?"

Pause.

A second later, Maggascotchi broke the silence with a rambling explosion:

"No! I can't believe how incredibly clueless you all are! After that cake fiasco, I couldn't stand the thought of going through with my marriage to Will! I was too stressed out! And none of you helped at all! In fact, I realized that I was in love with someone else: Jack Sparrow! So I did the only thing I could think of doing at the moment—I ran away! I left a ransom note to buy me some time—I never meant for it to be taken _seriously_! And Will, I left _you_ a note so that you _wouldn't_ go running after me like a mad man! It wasn't a _test_, how stupid can you be? And all of you just distorted the entire thing! Nothing worked out the way it was supposed to!"

Everyone was staring at her as if she really _did_ have bi-colored eyes.

"Oh, my, God," said Gillette, shocked. "Maggascotchi is _Elizabeth_."

Knowing the truth had finally come out, Elizabeth pulled off the blonde wig and wiped off the darkening makeup.

"My daughter!" exclaimed Governor Swann. "I'm so glad to have you back! I'm sorry for everything, really. I won't force you into anything anymore. And I'll get a new wig."

"Promise?"

"Promise." Governor Swann added, "So if both those notes were written by you, who wrote the one about horse feed in the blacksmith shop? Wasn't that you, Will?"

"I never wrote any note," answered Will. "But hey, that would've been a good idea. Notes are so fun."

"Uh…" Gillette figured slowly, "I think I know."

One by one, they all glanced at the donkey, which quickly trotted over to Will and licked him across the face with a slimy tongue.

"'SO I HAVE GONE OUT IN SEARCH OF THE ONE AND ONLY PERSON WHO APPRECIATES ME,'" recalled Barbossa. "The donkey left looking for Will!"

"I'm loved by a _donkey_?" asked Will, looking warily at the smelly creature who was wagging its tail fondly.

"Oh, that's so sweet," cooed Jack. "Now go kiss yer a."

Anamaria looked over at Gibbs. "So let me get this straight. Elizabeth who is Maggascotchi was after Jack who was with Will."

"And Jack who was with Will was after Maggascotchi who is Elizabeth," continued Gibbs.

"And Norrington who was with Gillette was after Jack who was with Will," added Anamaria, "because he was trying to find Elizabeth who is Maggascotchi."

"Governor Swann who was with Barbossa was after Norrington so that he could stop the wedding—either between Jack and Elizabeth or Norrington and Elizabeth."

"Barbossa who was with Governor Swann probably wants revenge upon Jack."

"And that donkey who stowed away on the Governor and Barbossa's ship was after Will because he's the only one who appreciates him."

"And we, the crew of Black Pearl, teamed up with Norrington and were after Jack who was with Will because we want Jack back because we want some of the profit from _Skull and Crossbones_…and we want him back as our Captain, because it's just not the same without him."

"Meanwhile, Jack fell in love with the mysterious Maggascotchi, even though he had no idea who she was…"

"And the donkey's the only sane one," snapped Norrington.

But before this story gets any more wholesome, Jack continued with,

"Eh, Elizabeth? Do ye 'appen to like big sunglasses?"

"Hate them," she replied.

"And pork?"

"Actually, I was thinking of becoming a vegetarian."

Jack sighed, dejectedly. "And it was such a great speech, too."

"Well, since you can't give _yours_," Norrington interrupted, shoving Jack out of the way. He knelt in front of Elizabeth. "I have something I must ask you."

"NOOO!" shrieked the Governor. "No! You can't!"

"Father, you just said that you would not interfere!" protested Elizabeth.

"Don't marry him! _Please_!" cried Will, sniffling.

Elizabeth frowned, indecisive, glancing from one possible husband to another. "Well, what's worse? Norrington or Will? Norrington or Will?"

"Well there's always eenie meenie minie moe!" offered Gibbs.

"Back off!" snapped Norrington, whipping his sword around so he had a three-foot cushion. "I have proposing to do!"

"You don't understand!" shouted Gillette.

"YOU CAN'T!" added the Governor.

"It's because of the deep, dark secret!" Barbossa interjected.

As always, that phrase stopped everyone.

"All right, all right! What deep, dark secret?" sighed Norrington, annoyed.

"It's that telekinesis thing!" sputtered Gillette. "I knew that you were coming here to Tortuga because—because—"

"Spit it out, Gillette!"

"Because we're brothers!"

"Elizabeth, can I marry you now before I pass out?" asked Norrington.

"And that's only the _deep_ part!" continued Gillette. "The _dark_ part is that we were actually Siamese twins!"

"Jack, are you laughing?" accused Norrington. "You'll get another ten years if I catch a smirk on your face."

"No," responded Jack, "the look on _yer_ face is all the happiness I'll need fer the rest of me life."

"And the _darkest, deepest_ part of it all is—"

"Elizabeth, hold me."

"_Governor Swann is our father! Elizabeth is our half-sister_!"

"On second thought, don't. I'll be just fine."

Norrington stood up stiffly and marched himself to the edge of the deck. "Well, you won't be needing me anymore," he sighed, and toppled overboard.

"Gillette!" cried Governor Swann. "Quickly! Save your brother!"

"Uh," Gillette hesitated, "I don't know if he really wants me to."

"But that's what brothers are for!" encouraged the Governor. "I'm sure he'd do the same for you!"

"If you say so." Gillette pinched his nose and dived after Norrington.

"Aw, I think I might actually miss those guys," smiled Jack.

"You won't have _time_ to miss them!" Barbossa yelled, pointing his gun at Sparrow. "It's me turn fer revenge!"

"_That's_ what I saved this shot fer!" remembered Jack, aiming his pistol at Barbossa as well.

"NO—MY BEST FRIEND!" shouted Will, running for Jack.

"NO—MY RINGBEARER!" shouted Governor Swann, running for Barbossa.

BANG!

BANG!

_SQUAAAWCK!_

Jack, Barbossa, Will, and the Governor collapsed to the deck amid a flurry of florescent feathers.

"You missed!" laughed Jack.

"You missed too!" retorted Barbossa.

"You hit _something_," said Will, afraid to look.

"Who brought the parrot?" asked Governor Swann.

Jack stared at him. "What. What did you say?"

"I said, 'Who brought the parrot?'"

Jack slowly turned around to find poor old Cotton's parrot lying in the middle of the deck.

"No, not again! It's like some bad dream, over and over again!" moaned Jack.

"Hey! I'm psychic and you're having de ja vu!" cheered Will.

"Jack, what have ye _done_?" interrogated Gibbs. "There be no excuse for killin' Cotton's parrot—again."

"Listen to yerself! This is insane!" Jack tried to defend himself, even as Cotton silently cried over his re-dead bird. "I could've been shot, and now jess cause I accidentally shot the bird everyone hates me again? Besides, how can I kill the parrot _twice_?"

"How _could you, _Jack?" Will wailed. "I thought you were an animal rights activist!"

"Will, where are you getting this from? You're the one with a feather in your hat! Do you know how many innocent birds were plucked for that vain attire?"

"Uh, _one_."

Suddenly, Jack caught sight of something gleaming in the parrot's beak.

"Gimme that bird!" he shrieked, diving towards it.

"Jess let it rest in peace!" Anamaria sighed, shaking her head.

"No need fer that!" announced Jack. "The bird's not dead!"

"What?"

Just then, the bird twitched and, as if nothing had happened, perked right up and began pecking at Jack's dreadlocks.

"The bird's got a coin from Cortez! He can't die!" laughed Jack. "Cotton, yer parrot's good as new! And I'm off the noose!"

Anamaria interrupted their mini celebration.

"All right, Jack, so you didn't shoot the bird. But didn't you _eat _the bird to begin with?"

Jack's face blushed. "Uh, I'd rather not discuss that."

"Gillette, _what_ are you _doing_?" sputtered Norrington as his newfound ex-Siamese twin dragged him back over the railing and to the deck of the ship. "Can't you just let me alone? I've lost my one true love _forever_!"

"But you've found your brother and father!" cheered Gillette. "Isn't life wonderful?"

Norrington suddenly recalled something. "Hey, that's right." He looked around, expectantly.

"What are you doing, bro?" asked Gillette.

"I'm waiting for my personal, unlimited, Ice Cream Parlor."

While Jack and Norrington were both preoccupied, Will tentatively approached a dismayed Elizabeth.

"I know this probably didn't work out the way you planned," he began slowly, "but I just wanted you to know that I love you more than I love lemon meringue."

For the first time since…well, even before this story began, Elizabeth smiled.

"When's our wedding again?" she asked.

----------------------

Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann were married soon after they returned from Tortuga. The chefs baked a new, Barbossa-free cake, with white icing to match the Governor's new wig. Captain Jack Sparrow, forced to wear something respectable, walked down the aisle too—as Will's best man. Elizabeth awarded him with "Maggascotchi's" ship, and Gibbs, knowing full well that things just weren't the same without the swashbuckling pirate, returned to him full ownership of the Pearl. Barbossa (who remained inexplicably alive) was granted the honor of being the ring bearer—although he did so under _extreme_ watch of Commodore Norrington. Meanwhile, Norry and Gillette planned to conduct a search for their biological mother. The donkey was content to be back in Will's company (and that feeling was mutual), and munched on his precious horse feed throughout the reception.

Jack decided to co-own the _Skull and Crossbones_ with Schwartzenegger, that way the Governor of California would have a place for his rallies and Jack could still sail the high seas. Everyone managed to agree on one final detail: They would keep the curse on Cotton's parrot, just in case Jack ever gave into temptation again.

--------------------------

END (yayness!)


	7. Cast Demands Reviews

Arnold Schwartzenegger:

**I know all you Americans and Californians are sitting at your computer chair and reading this. But you will not stop there. Please review for the good of your country! God bless reviews and God bless America! And remember to vote for Arnold. Thank you.**

Elizabeth:

You mean to tell me, that after reading ALL ABOUT everyone's little ADVENTURE, you STILL haven't reviewed! What's wrong with you people! More stress you cause me! I can't take this anymore…I need a vacation from this mess…and lemon meringue…my idiot father…my newly-found brothers…that smelly donkey…and Will…HOW ABOUT PEOPLE IN GENERAL!

Will:

Mksdfh dsfihf fkfd dfhb djhf ddkh…Mmmm…this lemon meringue is the BEST! Okay, anyway, it's been two weeks since we've found out the truth about "Maggascotchi," and still we only have twelve reviews. Norrington's getting cranky. And Elizabeth's eyebrow is looking very irritable lately… That's why I've taken a break from my wonderful dessert to tell you to…………………… PLEASE review! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE! We are not groveling. Just encouraging you. YAY! Now, back to my lemon meringue…

Norrington:

At the moment, I would be home admiring myself, but we are renovating my house for the new Ice Cream Parlor. So. I will take this time to ask you kindly to review. Now. RIGHT now. What's taking you so long! And if you don't, beware the wrath of the British Royal Navy! MWAHAHAHAHAHA! CANNONS! A DOUBLE DIP WITH SPRINKLES! No, I don't have a problem. I DON'T HAVE A PROBLEM!

Gillette:

…o0…Anywhos…if you happen to have any information concerning my biological mother, please feel free to send in a review containing your valuable knowledge. Seriously, give us some ideas…trust us, they won't be any weirder than what we've thought of already… And while you're doing that, comment on the story because you're driving the authors even more crazy—if that's possible—by not replying. If the message is specifically for me, I'll get back to you ASAP, but as for now I'm going on a fun trip with my brother!

Norrington:

A search for our biological mother…

Gillette:

Yeah…but also a bonding experience!

Norrington:

Where, I'm afraid to ask, are we headed?

Gillette:

Well, I know this great place called the Skull and Crossbones…

Jack:

'Ey! More money fer me! flashes gold-speckled smile But, sadly, I can't buy yer reviews, so ye'll jess hafta write 'em from yer own heart, savvy? Tell ya wot, mate, if ya review, Gibbs'll be buyin' you a drink next time yer in Tortuga—

Gibbs:

Jack, wot makes ye think they'll be buyin' that?

Jack:

Ye've forgotten: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, mate!

Gibbs:

-- Silly me…

Jack:

Anyway, the point 'ere, mates, is te send in a review fer the poor luvs who wrote dis story, and you'll all remember this as the day ye reviewed fer Captain Jack Sparrow!

Donkey:

CLIP CLOP CLIP. Maybe that gallon of ice cream I ate before from Norrington's Ice Cream Parlor (don't tell him, please) might be giving me brain freeze, but I cannot grasp your reason behind not reviewing such a well-written story. The motifs, the characterization, the stratagem for going about the script for God's sake! What must be done to persuade you to review? Please explain an answer in a review, if you'd be so kind, and make clear the motive of your insensibility. Thank you, that is all. CLIP CLOP CLIP.

Barbossa:

Well, I'm not too fond ov da Port Royal jail cells, but dey were kind 'nough te let me talk te ye fer jess a minute. It ge's lonely down 'ere. Da only thing 'at keeps me comp'ny is yer reviews…but, as ye can see, I'm still a lonely pirate…only twelve reviews…so, make me, well as e'eryone else a happy bloke an' send in a review.

Governor Swann:

I miss my pink wig. But I miss your reviews even more. I'll be so lonely once my boys go out looking for their biological mother, and I fear I might go insane. Truly. So, if you'll be so nice as to give me your thoughts about anything about this story, I'll even give you the key to Port Royal.

Arnold Schwartzenegger:

**Hey. I'll give you the key to California.**

Governor Swann:

Darn. Can't compete with that. Anyway, give us a review!

Harbormaster:

Well, after havin' one of my fine ships sink (the Jackson Michael for all of you who don't remember) I've been forced to band any pink-wig wearing idiots or narcissist Commodores from the docks. But I haven't banned all you wonderful people who'd like to send a review—or rent one of my lovely ships. Let's see, those available now include: J.L Martha (perfect for those illegal business trips), The Kerry Ferry (and trust me, the men who have sailed her before still sail her now), and, how can you forget a ship as grand as The Toby McGuire (though you might need some bug spray—a few spiders on that ship)…But not to worry! You'll be just fine! So tell me what you think of the story, and which ship you'd like to rent! Commandeering will not be tolerated.

Jack:

-- Darn…bloody harbormaster…

Cotton:

…

Jack:

Wot woz 'at, Cotton?

Cotton:

…

Jack:

Riiiiiiiight…o0

Cotton's parrot:

cawing Want more reviews! Want more reviews!

Jack:

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh… Alright-y 'en, mates. So, send some reviews an' make these sassy authors happy, savvy? Now, I best be goin' 'fore that bloody Norrington hangs me…see ya later, mate!

Cotton:

…

--------------

END (until next time...)


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